The mugs

The mugs on the shelf were still plain, a row of pale clay waiting for the next coat, and my smock was already a map of old pigment. Noah and Tess came in together after I texted that the kiln was cooling and the door could lock. We had agreed three days earlier, in the daylight of this same room, that if the work was done we would stay. I said the work was done. Tess asked again at the threshold, because that is how she is. I said yes. Noah said yes. She said yes, and I turned the bolt.

We washed our hands in the studio sink until the clay left the creases. I did not want grit in anyone's mouth. I took the smock off. Under it I was only in a thin tank and paint-stained trousers, nothing arranged to be impressive. Tess kissed me first. Noah stood close and watched the way I had asked him to watch, hungry and not hurried. I like his face when she touches my cunt. I like her face when I put his hand on her waist and say he is allowed to want her too, because we already decided.

I cleared the worktable of anything that could break and spread a clean cloth. Tess sat on it and I knelt and put my mouth on her cunt, tongue fucking her until her thighs shook around my ears. Noah stroked my back and told us we were beautiful. Then I stood, kissed her wet mouth, and guided Noah's cock into my hand and then into her cunt, slow, while I rubbed her clit and watched her take him. She had said she wanted him to fuck her. He checked her eyes. She nodded and pulled his cock in. When she came she laughed into my neck, her cunt tight around him. Noah pulled out before he finished, as we had agreed, and striped his cum across my stomach while Tess kissed me through it. My own cunt was still aching, and I told them so.

After, I set three plain mugs on the table and poured water. I told them I wanted this again in the morning if we still meant it when the light changed.